


Let The Wild Rumpus Start!

by DaintyBoots



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And yay who doesn't like adventures, Angst, BAMF!Stiles, Caleb is eternally mystified by everything, Cubs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, It started as domestic and then grew into an adventure, Kid Fic, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Minor Violence, Mystery, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Parenthood, This cub is basically a minature Stiles with claws, This isn't mpreg because you need talent to pull that shit off, Tropes, War, politics yo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaintyBoots/pseuds/DaintyBoots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Caleb Hale-Stilinski attempts to understand the circumstances of his coming-to-be, the political nuances of Lupine Civil War, and the indescribable authority of his Dad's eyebrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hot Copper Red Or: The Smallest Memory Ever

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, so be nice. Or don't be nice, see if I care, I have bullet-proof self esteem.
> 
> (Oh god I hope you guys like this and don't think I'm weird).
> 
> Unbeta'd, because this is my first foray into this cosy cosy fandom. Ignore any mistakes, they were intentional and experimental (thank god for spell check).

Caleb is a big boy now, and he knows that what you did is a pretty important part of what you do. If that’s the case, it makes sense that what you can remember is a big part of who you are. 

The first thing that Caleb remembers is dark liquid soaking into the scratched floorboards in the kitchen. He put his favourite hand, his right one, down onto the patch, and it came away red. That didn’t make much sense at the time, it still doesn’t really. He remembers how slick the red was, how strongly it smelt. Hot copper, Aunt Lydia told him after. It smelled like hot copper. Caleb remembers her red curls (not hand-red, hair-red) tickling his nose as she scooped him up, even faster than Uncle Scott scoops up the ball with his lacrosse stick. 

Caleb still saw it though. Dad was lying on his stomach on the big dinner/meeting/everything table, his awesome Dad-claws stuck into either side of the it. Daddy was sitting on top of him, his knees squeezing his sides, bracketing Dad in. They were both definitely Caleb’s daddies, because they were both covered in the same red that was presently on Caleb’s favourite hand. Dad was making The Face, but he wasn’t making growl at Daddy, Caleb knew he would never make growl at Daddy unless there was a laugh under it. Dad was making growl at the knife in Daddy’s hand, at Uncle Boyd and Uncle Isaac for holding him down and at the slick little canister Daddy was dropping into a pile of other slick little canisters. Dad was making growl at all the red. Caleb couldn’t blame him; he wasn’t too keen on the stuff either.

Before Aunt Lydia wheeled around the corner, Caleb saw Daddy bury his face in Dad’s hair, making the same soft warm murmuring noises that he put in Caleb’s ear when the darkness got too dark. He wanted to tell Dad that it meant safesafesafe. He must have understood though, because the next time Caleb saw him, the red was gone and Dad was playing airplanes, nipping him on the nose. 

But if that’s what he remembers, who is he? He can’t be Daddy or Dad, because Daddy is Daddy and Dad is Dad. Same goes for Uncle Boyd, Uncle Isaac and Aunt Lydia. Is he the floor? Is he the knife? Is he the red?

Caleb isn’t sure, but he doesn’t like the idea that he is something that his Dad would make growl at.

Aunt Lydia gets the red off his favourite hand. Well, most of it, anyway. All that’s left is a small scarlet line along the length of Caleb’s littlest fingernail. It stays there for a long time, until one day he puts his hand his mouth and the line is gone. 

Maybe that’s why he could remember, he decides. Because the hot copper red stayed. But why didn’t the memory go when the hot copper red was gone?

Why didn’t it go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just a short prelude-y thing to get the ball rolling. I have about half a dozen word documents with snippets of the world through Caleb-goggles, so I hope to organise them into a few dreamy little chapters and maybe even have an intelligible plot at some point! I mean, whoah.
> 
> Just to clarify, I imagine Caleb to be around two and a half. Stiles and the gang are around twenty and Derek is whatever age his beautiful self wants to be.
> 
> Also, I got the name Caleb from gasmsinc's beautiful work Animal Skins:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/474506


	2. Jazz Hands Or: Why Jackson Doesn't Finger Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Caleb ponders on the plumbing in the moon and psychoanalyzes our favourite douchebag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bored, this essay is a cruel mistress, and the previous chapter was light on the word count. Therefore, le new chapter is born. 
> 
> Once again, unbeta'd, and although I swear I did read over it, I am half way through a bottle of really cheap wine.
> 
> Keep that in mind, folks.

Caleb is sure that he could figure out who he is if he knew where he came from. He knows that he didn’t come from Daddy’s tummy or Dad’s tummy, because boys can’t put babies in their tummies. Daddy made that much clear. When he asked about it, Dad’s eyebrows went upupup.

“You heard him Stiles, g’head. Take it away.”

Daddy is Stiles. By now Caleb has realised that you can have lots of different names for things. Like Dad is Derek but sometimes he’s also Sourwolf and sometimes he’s Alpha (but that’s only when it’s Deaton-serious). Daddy is Stiles but sometimes he’s also Batman and sometimes he’s Human (but again, only when it’s Deaton-serious).

Daddy glared at Dad before clicked his fingers and started hammering his heels into the now-stainless floor.

_“It don’t mean a thing if it aaaaaainnn’t got that swiiiiiiiiing-“_

“Stiles.”

“You said to take it away. I’m taking it away. With jazz hands. Because, I’ve decided that if you’re all going to have some kind of triumphant pack victory howl at the end of a job, I’m going to have jazz hands.”

“It wasn’t a victory howl it was-“

“Derek, it was a victory howl. I thought my eardrums were going to collapse and be forced into early retirement. You need to tell Scott to tone it down, he-“

“I’ll admit he’s a bit...overzealous with the howling, but-“

“ _Overzealous?_ Where did you learn that word? Have you been creeping on my English Lit notes? Is that why they’re all disorganised?”

“No, I think I saw Erica with them the other day. And I can _read_ you know, I was raised by wolves, not in a _barn_ -“

This could take awhile, Caleb knows. He patiently gnaws on the table leg until Daddy prises him off.

“Calebbbbb. No. No. How many times have I told you, furniture doesn’t go in your mouth? Food goes in your mouth. One day, when you’re older and I don’t feel so responsible for your arteries; curly fries will go in your mouth. And then, Caleb, you will know God.”

Daddy was looking at him with the same serious expression as when he presented him with his special edition Star Wars Holy Trilogy box set. Then he made a sigh-grumble-smile sound and took him out to the porch. 

Dad followed them, sprawling out on the porch steps with Uncle Isaac and Aunt Erica. Sitting back in the rocking chair, Daddy went back and forth, throwing his legs out in time with the swings. Daddy could never keep still. He was humming the jazz-hands song, but softer and slower. Caleb pressed his face into Daddy’s soft hoodie. It was red, but didn’t smell like hot copper, so he decided that it was the best type of red there could be, followed closely by Aunt Lydia’s perfume hair. He felt the tops of his eyes slowly meet the bottom of his eyes. Sleepy time. 

“Look up there Caleb, you see the moon?”

Caleb blinked. If Daddy meant the shiny white circle-but-not-really-a-circle in the inky sky, then yes, he could see the moon. 

“Well, there’s a lady in the moon.”

Caleb took a moment to let this sink in. A lady in the moon? That’s very high up. That’s probably even higher than Dad could throw him. How does she get down from the moon? What if she needs to pee? There doesn’t look like there’s much room for a toilet in the moon, it’s tiny. Does that mean the lady is tiny too? Caleb wanted to hear more about this tiny lady with a steel bladder who lives in the moon, so he bumped his face against Daddy’s. He took the hint.

“The lady in the moon is the most beautiful lady in the world. She looks after all the wolves, the big ones like Dad, and the little ones like you. Even the ones possessing a single brain cell, like Scott.”

Caleb heard Dad, Isaac and Erica snort.

“The lady in the moon found you, when you were so little that you could fit in the palm of your Dad’s hand. She made the pretty awesome and correct decision that we needed you and you needed us. So one night, she shone all her beamtastic light and gave you to us, right over there.”

Daddy was pointing to where the trees were the blackest, to where Caleb never went to play, because Uncle Jackson told him that’s where mountain trolls shopped for tooth floss in the shape of wolf cubs.

“I’m from the moon?”

Daddy’s arms tightened around his middle, and Caleb could see him sharing a look with Dad.

“Yeah Caleb, you’re from the moon.”

x x x

Wherever Caleb is from, he’s a bazillion percent sure that Uncle Jackson is not from there. It’s not that he doesn’t like Jackson, it’s just that he’s his least favourite. And it’s not because of the time he pushed Daddy backwards so he hit the floor too hard, or the time he made Uncle Scott make The Face because he hissed something about Mysterious Lady Allison. Not entirely, anyway.

It’s that Uncle Jackson _smells_ funny. 

“Fear.”

Caleb looked up from where he’d been chewing on the arm rest, having grown bored of the silence that stretched on when he put the question to Dad. 

“Jackson smells funny because he smells like fear.”

“Whuzzat?”

Caleb noticed that Dad was starting give him the look that he sometimes gave Daddy, all soft frustration and melty eyes. 

“It means he’s scared.”

“Like me when no nightlight?”

“Sort of.”

Caleb waited expectantly for a moment before settling back into dining on the arm rest. Dad wasn’t like Daddy when it came to talking about stuff. He needed to take his time, so he could get everything in his head together. On the other hand, Daddy talked all the time and the stuff in his head was never together, that’s why he had to take the little magic morning sweeties that Caleb Must Never Ever Touch. 

At the moment, Daddy was sitting on the other side of the room with more books than Caleb thought there were in the world. His eyes were closed and the tips of his fingers were pressed to either side of his head, making circles in his skin. His lips were moving, but no sound was coming out. A pencil floated a few inches above the desk. Dad’s eyes tracked its movement.

“Jackson is scared that he might hurt you.”

Now that didn’t make any sense. Because although Caleb had seen The Face on Jackson more times than anyone else, he had never hurt him. When he thought about it, Jackson had never really touched him. Jackson didn’t give shoulder rides like Boyd or make mud pies like Isaac. He didn’t do finger-painting masterpieces like Erica. To be fair, no one could make a dinosaur out of shadows like Lydia. 

“But Jacks likes me, I pack.”

“Yeah, he likes you very much, but he doesn’t like himself very much. He doesn’t trust himself yet.”

This was all news to Caleb. How could you not like yourself? How could you not trust yourself? If you do something, you’re the first one who knows about. Like when he decided to try and eat Aunt Lydia’s lip-gloss this morning, that was a very thought-out and conscious decision. He gave himself full permission to do it. Sure, it didn’t taste as good as it smelled and Lydia looked about two seconds away from The Face. But after, he was still pretty sure that he was The Best Cub In The Entire Galaxy, just like Daddy said. 

But maybe they made Uncle Jackson different where he came from.

That made a bit more sense. It explained why he never played the pewpew games on the big screen with Daddy and Uncle Scott. It explained why when he threw Erica, it was real throwing, not play throwing. It explained why he kept staring at Aunt Lydia, even though she never stared back. 

It explained why when he sounded real sure of himself, he didn’t smell sure at all. 

Dad had levered himself up from the armchair and walked slowly over to where Daddy sat. He took away Daddy’s fingers pressing into his temple and put his own fingers there, making slow small circles. The pencil made a small click as it hit the surface of the desk. Daddy made a surprisereliefhappy noise, and let his head fall back on Dad’s big shoulder, allowing him to press his nose into Daddy’s neck. Caleb understood that when this happens, it is Very Important that he leaves. 

He made his way out of the room, snuffling the floorboards until he located Uncle Isaac downstairs. As he bum-slid his way down the stairs, he thought about what Dad had said. 

Uncle Jackson smells like fear. 

Caleb wondered if he would ever smell like fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Caleb will at some point smell like fear. 
> 
> The fluff. It slays me. I am almost 86 per cent sure that it is going to get darker than this. But the again, I have just written something saved until the title "Bath Time".
> 
> Oh well.


	3. Crossbow Or: Never Touch A Dead Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Caleb takes a running leap into trouble and finds that it is a lot less fun and a lot more confusing than he thought it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Here be plot. And ambiguity. good ambiguity though, with foreshadowing etc. Hopefully. 
> 
> Unebeta'd. Forgive and point out mistakes, it's 3AM where I am you guys.

Uncle Isaac heard her first. If Dad had been there, he would have heard her sooner. Dad was like that. He could tell when it was going to rain, when Daddy was going to make something explode or when Caleb had an Accident all at least ten Mississippis before everyone else. But Dad was out for the afternoon on Super-Duper Important Pack Relations Business with Uncle Boyd and Scott.

So Uncle Isaac heard her first.

He pressed his Face to the window, ears flattened against his head. A slow, deep growl was growing in his throat just as Erica, Lydia and Jackson began to wear their Faces. The living room started to vibrate with the low pulse of growls, thrumming through Caleb’s blood, making _him_ want to do the same. But before he could do anything, Daddy had swept him from the rug on the floor to the couch, practically stuffing him into the corner, as if he could hide Caleb amidst the cushions.

“I need you to just chill here, okay little dude? Stay Caleb, seriously, _stay._ I’ll be back in a few minutes. _Stay still_ , Caleb. Lydia is going to hang with you okay?”

He was already reaching for the Bat that leant in the corner by the front door. Caleb had never understood why Daddy could touch the Bat without getting burnt. He tried once, stretching his pinkie finger out, prodding it. The smoke shocked him more than the pain. It curled up from the tip of his finger, away from the curdled pink skin. It took a couple of minutes to realise that the owch in his pinkie wasn’t stopping like it usually did. It took Daddy, some of his magic gloopy stuff and something called a Band-Aid to make it better. All the while, Daddy had a sad, creased look on his face. He was taking much longer pauses in between words than usual, the word ‘Wolfsbane’ happening again and again. Caleb was too busy wondering if this owch was forever to listen much.

He never touched the Bat again though.

Daddy twirled it experimentally with one hand before gripping it tightly, his deep breath harmonising with the whine of the door. Aunt Erica, Uncle Jackson and Isaac padded silently after him, growls still vibrating against the window panes.

Caleb wriggled free of his cushion cocoon and scrambled up onto the window sill. Aunt Lydia seemed to anticipate a fight she could not win and settled for bracketing Caleb in with her arms, leaning her chin on his head. Her curls were a red velvet curtain for Caleb to pull back and enjoy the show.

Daddy had stopped walking a few metres away from the porch steps. His Bat dangled loosely in his right hand (just like Caleb, it seemed to be favourite hand too). Erica and Isaac flanked him, while Jackson brought up the rear, pacing in a way that told everything to go away go away go away.

She was beautiful. Her hair fell down in the same way as Lydia’s, all soft curls and small wisps. But hers was dark. Perhaps, Caleb thought, to keep with her black clothes, which seeming to hang off her slender frame, as if they might have fit someone else a long time ago. Her outfit contrasted strongly, almost painfully with her skin. _Skin white as snow_. It was like that vaguely frightening story that Daddy read to him one night, about the little men and the sleepy princess. The princess, she had skin like that. Black hair. Red lips.

She didn’t have red lips now though. They were pale and shaking, constantly being troubled by her front teeth. She had her arms raised above her head, her fingers splayed in the air. Even from this distance Caleb could see each finger rattle, as if they were annoyed that the arms would put them through this. She was taking halting steps towards Daddy. He could tell that each movement was costing her something big and important. Caleb could feel Aunt Lydia behind him, like a rock, unmoving and unbreathing.

“As much as I’d like to see what happens, I’ve heavily advise you not to take a step further.”

He didn’t like when his Daddy talked like that. It was tight and brittle, putting pictures of Bad Nights, heavy falls and redness into Caleb’s mind. Daddy still kept the light, friendly tone, as if he’d like nothing better than to go get a smoothie with this pale girl, but Caleb could _feel_ the barbed wire underneath, snagging at the corners of the girl’s mouth, making it turn down.

“Stiles, I need to talk-“

“Scott isn’t _here_ Allison. And even if he was, he wouldn’t come near you with a ten-foot barge pole. Now scoot, before Erica stops exerting her tenuous control over her PMS.”

Allison. So this was Allison. It was weird, seeing the person who had caused so much yelling in the house. He thought she’d be different. Taller, at least. More teeth. Some claws. His parents had always said her name like it was important and Uncle Scott had always said her name like it was a prayer, but Caleb couldn’t see anything more than a girl who wanted to crawl into bed and never get out again. She closed her eyes for a second before opening them again.

“It’s not Scott that I came to talk to. It’s the pack, it’s-“

“Well, Derek’s not here at the moment either. Which is wildly convenient for you and your jugular right now.”

“I know, I’ve been-“

“Have you been watching us? _Seriously?_   This is our house, dude. I thought we had any agreement, we don’t touch your slimy arms storage units and you don’t touch our house.”

“You blew up _four_ of our storage units last month and I’m not _touching_ your house, I’m-“

“Wow, someone’s become a stickler for details since we last met. You’re on Hale territory. Leave.”

Caleb felt his claws dig into the window sill. This was getting unbearably tense. The girl didn’t seem to have any intention of leaving, still staring at Daddy with her big, sad eyes. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, her face full of grimace and thought.

“Stiles. I swear, I mean the pack no harm. I have information, I bring _information_.”

The last word went up like a plea, like a last request for a bit more nighlight time. Caleb could see the back of Daddy’s head turn to Erica, sharing a look with her. He couldn’t see what kind of look it was. He squirmed and craned his neck to get a better look at the proceedings. Lydia forced him back down with her chin, huffing against his hair. He’d been on thin ice since the lipgloss thing, so he sat back down.

“Allison, I don’t trust you any further than I can throw you. And you were in gym class with me. You saw my attempts at shot-put.”

A small, slight quirk of the pale lips.

“I dunno Stiles, you’re pretty handy with that bat these days-“

“No. This is not that kind of conversation. You don’t get to throw back at the Stilinski quips. You gave up that blessed right the moment you ran out of that basement and let your Dad’s cronies do what they wanted. You. Don’t. Get. To. Banter.”

Caleb was lost. Allison’s lips had gone back to the unhappy line, a new hurt written into her forehead. Whatever Daddy had said had made bad thoughts erupt in her head. Caleb could practically see them spiralling uncontrollably out of her ears, running down her cheeks. She nodded once, tight, like Dad when someone spread a map with arrows out in front of him.

“Understood.”

“Glad we got that cleared up. Now, to business. What’s in this for you? If you’re looking for a trade-off, you’ve come to the wrong place. We’re not giving you hunters an iota of information, no matter what golden nuggets you’ve got hidden up your bulletproof sleeves.”

“No, I-, it’s...Well, I heard something...Something I thought might be of interest to you. N-nothing in it for me...Just wanted to...H-help...”

Daddy let her suck in a deep, shaky breathe before dragging the Bat across the dead leaves, indicating that she should continue.

“The Bray Pack. They’re not heading east, they’re heading west. Heading h-here.”

Silence. He could tell Allison had just delivered the kind of news that bounced all over Daddy’s tummy. He wasn’t looking at her however, he was looking at Uncle Isaac, who nodded as his eyes searched Allison’s face.

“We have it on good authority The Bray Pack are heading east along the border, in pursuit of a group of bounty hunters.”

“Well, some of our people found the very scattered and very chewed remains of said bounty hunters last week. Your information is outdated. They’re heading here.”

Caleb could see Uncle Jackson’s pacing grow more and more agitated, as if he was fed up with all the talking. Caleb couldn’t blame him, he’d hadn’t been so confused since Daddy tried to explain to him how washing machines worked. But at least with that he felt like it wasn’t something he had to worry about, at least for the time being. This situation seemed to be both very pressing and very complicated.

Allison seemed to be taking her time to form the next sentence. She scuffed the toe of her boot against the rotting yellow leaves, apparently captivated by it.

“You know what they’re coming for, Stiles.”

“Nope.”

Daddy was a terrible liar. Caleb could tell that the bubblegum pop of his reply was to hide his ohgodohgodohgod. He wished Dad was here. He made scenes like this very short, and Caleb could then get back to watching cartoons with Isaac. Instead, he pressed his ear to the pane of glass, hearing Allison’s voice grow harder.

“Yes you do. You know the Bray Pack is going to come looking for him. ”

“If the _him_ you’re referring to is the him I think you’re referring to, then no, I don’t know that. The rumours that the biological mother came from the Brays are just that, rumours.”

Caleb was getting bored. Daddy and Allison were speaking gobbledygook grown-up. The only thing that was stopping him from climbing down and playing with his fire engine was Uncle Jackson’s pacing growing tighter and tighter.

“Stiles, there were reports of a Bray she-wolf in Beacon Hills on the night of _that_ full moon. _Eye-witness reports._ It’s the only explanation.”

“Numero uno, there is never one explanation of anything. Philosophy 101. Put down the crossbow, read a book. Numero dos, even if aforementioned she-wolf _was_ the biological mother, the Bray Pack can lay no claim. Whoever she was, she was a defecting omega and Derek marked him the following full moon. They’ve got nothing.”

“You _know_ they’re just going to use it to start something, you haven’t given them anything and-“

“The ‘it’ you are referring to is my son, yeah?”

Caleb felt his ears snap up. That was him! He was Daddy’s son! Unless, of course, Daddy and Dad had other sons. But he was sure he’d have heard about them if that was the case. So they must be talking about _him._ All of a sudden, he wished he listened a bit closer and watched less of the Jackson-pacing. Allison seemed to be trying to rewind what she had been saying.

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that, I-“

“Of course you didn’t. Because you hunters never really _think_ before you do things, do you? You just shoot and stab and hack and don’t really consider the consequences. Well, unlike you, we have. And if you think we’re not ready for every eventuality, _including_ the Brays, you’ve greatly underestimated us. Unsurprising, considering how many times your Dad has underestimated us in the past. While I thank you on behalf of the Hale pack for your useless information, you are still standing on our property. So please, kindly fuck off.”

Caleb didn’t have time to clap his hands over his ears. Bad word, Daddy, baaaaad word. His sugary-sweet war-words seemed to have an effect on Allison, because she took an angry step forward.

With only two-nearly-three years to his name, Caleb could have told her that was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

Uncle Jackson sprang forward like someone had unlocked his cage, like a soaring leap from couch to couch in a game of The Floor Is Lava. His claws kicked back a swirl of yellow leaves, almost like a starter signal for Erica and Isaac, who also began to advance. Caleb was sorry that Allison was going to be gone soon, she had seemed so interesting, and so sad –

But she had kicked up and grabbed a strange instrument from amidst the leaves, levelling it. Now he could understand why Dad and Daddy had spoken her name with importance.

Once, awhile back, Dad had found a snake that he thought Daddy could use in his magic potions. Caleb was disappointed when he saw it, small, still and sad on the forest floor. It was nothing like the snakes on TV. Still though, it was a real snake. He reached out a hand to touch it. The head of the snake jerked forward, fangs sprouting, clamping down on the leaves where Caleb’s hand had been, just milliseconds before Dad had pulled him away.

“Never touch a dead snake, Caleb” he said as he sat him on his shoulders, walking away. “Some things want to live so bad that even when they don’t move anymore, even when they can’t move anymore, they’ll still do their best to fight back.”

 Allison didn’t need teeth or claws, because in her eyes, she had the dull ferocity of a snake that didn’t move anymore. The thing she had in her arms was some kind of splayed weapon, with a string and a stick. Caleb didn’t know how it worked or what it did, but he was sure that he didn’t want it where it was aiming.

Because it wasn’t at Jackson, or Erica, or Isaac.

It was at Daddy.

Everyone else seemed to freeze. The pack was mesmerized by the thing in Allison’s hands, tracking its path from her to Daddy’s chest, right at Darth Vader’s helmet. Even Lydia seemed to be unable to move. Daddy had one of his hands up, the one without the Bat, like he was trying to tell everyone to calm down.

Caleb wasn’t calm, there was no way he could be calm when this was happening. Why wasn’t anyone doing anything? Why wasn’t Daddy using his Bat? Why wasn’t Jackson making her neck turn red? _Where was Dad?_

He was slipping from Lydia’s slack grip and bounding out the door before he knew what he was doing. If he could just get Daddy back inside and tell Jackson what to do, then it would all be okay. He managed to dodge Isaac’s frantic tackle and skip through Erica’s outstretched arms before firmly attaching himself to Daddy’s leg, hooking his arms around his knees and giving what he felt to be a succinct round of orders, all the while keeping his Face glare on Allison, whose face had turned luminescent with fear.

Had he done that?

Daddy slowly bent down and lifted him up, as if Caleb had said nothing at all (admittedly, it wasn’t his best speech effort). He was calm and deliberate as he hefted Caleb to his hip, allowing him to twine his hands around his neck. Caleb could hear it though. He could hear his heart going rabbit-fast, fast like running away and hiding forever.

The pause that followed made everything suspend in time. Hanging, glittering shards of confusion shone out of Allison’s eyes, and all Caleb was sure of was the softness of his Daddy’s t-shirt.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that none of us were expecting that to happen. I’m also gonna say that if you keep pointing that crossbow at me and my child, Jackson here is quite ready to rip your throat out.”

Jackson made a low wet growl behind them, signifying his willingness.

Allison lowered what-was-now-apparently-a-crossbow slowly. She didn’t seem able to stop looking at Caleb. He wished she would turn her orb-eyes somewhere else. He tightened his grip around Daddy’s neck. The returning squeeze sent Caleb’s teeth back to shortness and his forehead back to smoothness. It was alright. Daddy had this under control.

“Right, I’ve reached my drama-threshold for the day, so we’re just gonna-“

“This is Caleb.”

It wasn’t a question. His name felt tangy and new in her voice, like it was from a desert-land far far away with Ali Baba and all the thieves. She was looking at him like she expected someone different. Maybe someone bigger? Someone smaller? More teeth? Less teeth?

“Erm...Yeah. Yeah, this is Caleb. I forgot you hadn’t seen him since...Anyway, Caleb kind of needs nap time like now so-“

“You’ve...You’ve done good Stiles.”

Her voice was low and pillow-soft. Daddy didn’t move. Caleb wondered if he’d heard what she’d said. Daddy wasn’t able to hear things very well; he couldn’t even hear things in the next room, so it was possible that he missed Allison’s words.

“Thanks.”

He tried to keep it as brittle the dead leaves he was standing on but Caleb could hear the creeping warmth. His mouth quirked up at the side, less teeth in the smile than usual, but it was good sign. Caleb could sense Isaac’s shoulder blades loosen, could hear Jackson quieten. It was all okay. The wind kissed Caleb’s face, making him turn his face into the slowly steadying bumpabumpabumpa of Daddy’s neck. It was all okay.

Daddy opened his mouth to say something that would have probably been quick and Daddy-funny and gone right over Caleb’s head, but he closed it with a click of his teeth. Caleb could hear the bumpabumpabumpa start to bleed fast through him. He knew why. He could feel it too. That warm, pooling feeling in the middle of his tummy, quickly followed by uh-oh.

Dad was here.

Allison seemed to register all of their changed stances, and took an uncertain step backwards, repositioning the sweat-soaked grip on her crossbow. She had time for one last brief glance at Daddy before throwing herself to the ground, missing by inches the gunshot-snap of Dad’s jaws, rolling across the ground, leaves in her hair. Yellow against black. Bumblebees.

Dad threw back his wiry-black head and brought forward a howl that made the rest of the Pack start prowling closer to Allison, struggling backwards on her elbow, her crossbow levelled at Dad’s face. Aunt Erica let out a laugh-snarl, like she’d wanted to do this for a long, long time. Aunt Lydia inched slowly, behind Jackson, like she was trying to build up something in her bones and get rid of something else.

Uncle Scott?

Uncle Scott was still at the lining of the trees, with no Face but claws that seemed to be tearing chunks out of the bark. He was choking back something big, his eyes blinking over and over as his body made rocking motions, as if he had no idea where to go and no time to decide.

“Hold it.”

Daddy wasn’t kidding. It was the same as don’t-touch-the-magic-stuff and it’s-time-for-a-bath. No negotiation possible. Everyone stilled, apart from Allison, who leapt to her feet, taking in the positions of each of the Pack. Caleb watched as her eyes feel on Scott. The look that they shared was the kind of sad that Caleb felt when he knew that one of his many pets would never move again, or when Daddy couldn’t get out of bed. It was the kind of sad that couldn’t be taken back.

The growl in Dad’s throat became more urgent, full of warning. Daddy walked to stand beside him, still with Caleb in his arms. He gently traced his pointer finger down Dad’s back, right in the centre, along the bumps in his spine. Dad seemed to shudder in understanding, his growl hitching almost imperceptibly.

“Go. Now.”

Allison didn’t have to listen to the words Dad forced from his throat twice. She took off running with the same kind of thudding distress as Caleb had seen the pretty ladies in Erica’s blood n’ guts films. But that didn’t make any sense, because those ladies were running away from the monsters. So maybe Allison was just running because she was in a hurry to get somewhere.

The snap, crackle and pop meant that Dad had lost his fur and had instead gotten his super-frowny face on. This was never a good sign. This was the kind of Dad-frown that didn’t have anything to do with Caleb, because Caleb never got more than a two-wrinkle forehead.

This was clearly a three-wrinkle forehead problem.

“Stiles.”

“Don’t Derek.”

“ _Stiles.”_

“Seriously, don’t. You know as well as I do that if you decided to open up the chest cavity of Chris Argent’s _only_ daughter and second-in-command, we’d have every hunter in the county on our asses, with more sprinting over the hills to pump you guys full of wolfsbane. Not to mention breaking like, five fragile pacts with other packs, all of which were gained with a serious amount of word wizardry on my part. So don’t.”

Dad pressed his lips together in frustration. Everyone present, including Caleb, knew that this wasn’t the true cause of the three-wrinkle forehead. Whether or not Dad would have made Allison stop moving wasn’t important. It was that Allison was there when Dad wasn’t. Allison was there and Daddy and Caleb were there and Dad wasn’t there to stand in front of them. This kind of thing never boded well with Dad. He was very particular about standing in front of people.

“You let her stay.”

“I was subtly ushering her away instead of bludgeoning-“

“You were having a _conversation_ with her.”

“I was gaining important information, so don’t you-“

“You were having a conversation with an Argent.”

“If you would let me get a goddamn word out-“

“You were having a conversation with an Argent while holding Caleb right in front of her.”

“And what the _hell_ do you mean by that Derek?”

Silence. No one in the Pack moved a muscle. They weren’t stupid. This was what Uncle Isaac referred to as a Minefield Situation. Daddy was trembling from head to toe; Caleb could feel his entire body shaking with anger while his arms adjusted around Caleb’s waist. Caleb could smell the magic beginning to flicker in the air, that sweet, tangy scent like sugar-coated iron.

“What. Do. You. Mean. Derek.”

“Stiles, forget about it, he’s just worked up, we all are-“

Boyd’s placating words made no impact. Daddy was inches from Dad’s face, so close that Caleb could reach out and touch Dad’s arm. But he knew it was time for lets-talk-about-Caleb instead of lets-play-with-Caleb.

Caleb wanted to be back in the living room with his firetruck and cartoons and Daddy. Dad would come through the door like normal and there would be joke fights instead of real fights. Allison would be far away in Not-Knowing Land and Caleb wouldn’t know what a crossbow looked like.

“You know EXACTLY what I mean Stiles! She’s not the girl you went to school with anymore, she’s the enemy! And you’re standing in front of her and her goddamn _loaded_ crossbow, with your bat in your hand and our son at your hip like you’re seventeen again! You know as well as I do, the rules aren’t there anymore, nothing of the old ways _stands_ and if you think you can just _waltz_  around like we’re not in the middle of a fucking _war_ and pretend like nothing’s wrong- You’re just so- Why can’t you just-”

Dad viciously scrubbed at his already rumpled hair with the palm of his hand, before dragging it down his face. Caleb wasn’t used to having so many words come out of his Dad’s mouth, especially at such volume. Daddy didn’t seem used to it either, because he reached out a hand, concern etched across his face.

Abruptly, Dad turned away, shifting with a crack and galloping away to the blackest part of the woods.

Daddy’s concern left him pretty fast.

“OH THAT’S MATURE. I’M DEREK FUCKING HALE AND I CAN’T FINISH A FUCKING SENTENCE. FANTASTIC. THANKS SO MUCH FOR CLEARING ALL OF THAT UP FOR ME, I’M IN AWE OF YOUR ALPHA CHARISMA AND POLITICAL GRACE. ENJOY YOUR FUCKING FROLICK IN THE WOODS YOU TOTAL ASSHOLE.”

Caleb removed his fingers from his ear when he felt it was safe. There were a lot less birds around than there were previously. Caleb could see black dots in the sky. Daddy’s frankly alarming bellowing had definitely made the impact he was aiming for.

“Sorry.”

Daddy kissed his forehead as he walked inside, the Pack following at a safe distance. Caleb wanted to try and see if Uncle Scott was okay (he wasn’t sure why, but the whole Allison thing had clearly been a serious not-good for him), but Daddy stilled him. He clearly had had enough of movement and happenings for the day.

“Caleb?”

“Whu?”

He waited for what he anticipated as the longest lecture in his short life about the dangers of running and jumping and generally being The World’s Baddest Cub. Even Caleb felt he probably deserved that right now though.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't even planning to include Allison in this story and then the chapter becomes a freakin' character study. Le sigh. Back to the fluff asap, but for now enjoy the image of Stiles bawling after Derek storming into the woods. 
> 
> Fun fact: Caleb's favourite cartoon is Spongebob. Stiles is slowly easing him into Invader Zim.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it, and comments are love.


	4. Band-Aid Or: We'll Eat You Up We Love You So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Caleb gets a bedtime story and attempts to understand the wartime policies of stubborn wolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, real life decided to intrude and no one seemed to want me near my laptop. 
> 
> Anyway, here is the obligatory Where The Wild Things Are chapter. About as unavoidable as One Direction.

After the second plate became a thousand little non-plates on the floor, Uncle Boyd suggested that that Daddy head to bed and let him clean up.

“Huh? What? No, no, it’s totally fine man, I got this. It’s just- butter-fingers- _fuck!”_

Caleb caught a glimpse of red before Daddy stuck his finger in his mouth, dropping a particularly evil looking plate-shard back onto the kitchen floor. Aunt Lydia was already rummaging through the In-Case-Daddy-Is-Hurt cupboard, pulling out a Band-Aid. Caleb always felt sorry for Daddy when things like this happened. Band-Aids didn’t make the owch go away.

Daddy grumbled to himself as he stuck it on. Caleb toyed glumly with his mushy peas. Yuck. Daddy knew he hated mushy peas. Still, he seemed slightly distracted when he set it down with a clatter in front of him, so Caleb felt it was probably not the best time to bring up his dietary preferences.

“Not feeling up to it, huh little man?”

Caleb didn’t really feel like looking in his eyes. He knew what they’d be like. Brown and big and getting sadder every day. He just stuck his arms up in the air, staring down in the green gloop. He felt a sigh whoosh over the top of his head, fluttering his hair.

“Yeah, you’ve probably got a point.”

He enjoyed the second-long flight before resting his chin on Daddy’s shoulder. He saw Boyd clearing the little not-plates off the floor. His broad back would make a perfect spring-board to the fridge. Why did he only have his best brainwaves at times like these?

As they began to walk up the stairs, Caleb felt something crumbly nudge against his hand.

“Here, you didn’t finish your peas. I know night time snacks are a thing for sucky parents, but I figure we can afford one lapse of judgement every now and then.”

Caleb gnawed happily on the biscuit, enjoying that it put up a resistance to his teeth in a way that mushy peas never did. When they got to the top of the staircase he expected to be carried into the second to last door on the left, his bedroom. Instead, Daddy was opening the last door, to his and Dad’s room.

Oh, so today was that bad.

“Want to hang in here tonight kiddo?”

He jumped onto the bed, doing a tumble that Daddy seemed to take for a yes. While he went to get his PJs, Caleb finished his biscuit, staring up at one of Daddy’s many, many charts that took up every spare inch of the house. Most of them had Daddy’s scrawly words on it, but some of them had Dad’s blocky capital writing. All of them looked very confusing and very important.

Daddy came back with his PJs and managed to cram Caleb into them before getting into his own. He clambered into bed beside him, a stack of books in his arms.

“So, what’ll it be tonight buddy? _Goodnight Moon?”_

“Blergh.”

“With you dude. That bunny is cray-zay. _The Very Hungry Caterpillar?”_

“Yuck.”

“I feel ya. Kinda makes me feel sick. _Where The Wild Things Are?”_

Caleb settled his head against Daddy’s stomach, touching the sleeping Wild Thing on the front of the book.

“I’ll take that as a yes. You do realise though that the story doesn’t change the bazillionth time you read it right?”

Caleb tapped the cover a little more insistently. Daddy sighed, but he could tell it was more a smile-sigh than anything else.

“Alright then, you lil’ hipster-baby. “ _The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind...””_

Caleb felt his eyes begin to slide down. Daddy’s voice seemed to melt into the half-darkness of the room, curling around the slanted yellow light of the lamp. The stone that had been sitting inside his tummy began to fade away as he took two breaths to Daddy’s one heartbeat. Why did Max leave the Wild Things to go back to some faceless lady anyway? That was stupid of him.

He could hear the light click off. Daddy must have finished the story. He curled around Caleb like a question mark. Caleb let the cracked light of the doorway ebb away from him as his eyes finally closed.

_Oh please don’t go._

_We’ll eat you up._

_We love you so._

Caleb blinked against Daddy’s t-shirt. It was actually Dad’s shirt, but it looked so much bigger on Daddy. The cracked light of the doorway suddenly grew wider and wider, filling the room with a watery-grey-blue. The charts and symbols loomed out of the darkness, as if they’d been laying in wait, biding their time.

Dad was home. Finally.

He felt the edge of the bed dip, the sheet pulled taut and a furnace-hand pressed gently against the side of his head. A padded thumb made little circles behind his ear. Another hand tugged softly at Daddy’s ankle.

Like a piston, he shot up, encircling Caleb with the remainder of his body, before he saw who it was. He relaxed, every particle of fight seemed to leave his bones, seeping through the mattress and through the floorboards. Caleb could feel his fingers curling and uncurling around the hem of his pyjama shirt.

“He’s fine.”

Caleb agreed with Dad. He _was_ fine. There were no owchs, no bad pictures in his head. There had been scarier days, and this one wasn’t one to make any big tears over. Sure, the whole Allison thing tasted like something bigger-to-come, but that was further away than tomorrow-breakfast, and Caleb had made a conscious decision not to think past then.

“I’m not apologising.”

“I don’t want you to apologise.”

“Well good, ‘cause I’m not apologising.”

“Stiles, didn’t I just say that I don’t want-“

Caleb saw the outline of a hand shoot out and press against Dad’s mouth.

“Derek, I’ve been dealing with your saliva for more than four years, if you think I’m going to take my hand away just because you’re licking it you’ve got anoth- _ewww.”_

Daddy withdrew his hand, dragging it along the length of sheets. It was great to hear Dad laugh, a low chuckle that filled the room like warm caramel, running down the charts and the wallpaper that Caleb used for his finger painting.

Daddy made a disgusted noise before swinging his long legs around and letting his fingers tangle up in Dad’s hair, pushing his face down into the nape of his neck. Caleb could barely hear the words he murmured.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume that Isaac told you the full deal.”

“Yeah.”

“She wasn’t lying. I checked.”

“I know.”

“So the Bray Pack are-“

“Yeah.”

“Well...shit.”

“Yeah.”

 They both fell back onto the bed. Caleb enjoyed the springy bounce before the solid fortress of his parents flanked him. Each seemed lost in their own world, staring at the ceiling. Daddy dragged a hand down the side of his face, one of his eyes going droopy before his lip stretched down. Fascinating. Caleb would have to check later if he could do that.

“I guess we could talk to Bruno and the guys up north, they said we could call on them whenever-“

“I can’t work with Bruno.”

“True that. Trust you two alphas to be as pig-headed as fuck.”

Caleb saw a shadowy hand lightly flick a knee, and Daddy’s quick laugh split the air before he quieted. Maybe he thought Caleb was asleep. He hoped so. That’s when all the most exciting stuff seemed to happen.

“We could talk to the Rhys sisters; see if they could do anything about intercepting the Brays at the border?”

“Nah, Annette’s been weird since they lost Effie; she keeps sending me these bizarre-o vibes. I can’t cast around her. How about Tixy?”

“No.”

“Why not? The Blackwoods would be one hell of an asset if we could get them. The triplets are like a team of death-ninjas-”

“I’ve told you before, we’re not using the Blackwoods until it’s an emergency.”

“An emergency? Dude, are you kidding me? The Bray Pack arriving on our doorstep for our baby is just a goddamn tricky predicament then?”

The silence in the room was deafening, he could feel it suddenly weigh down the bed, and it was him, Dad and Daddy, spinning in the darkness, with no point of reference to even get dizzy by. Daddy’s quavering voice seemed to surface out of this whale stomach of darkness.

“You heard about the Lawsons down south right? You heard what happened to them?”

“That wasn’t wolves, that was hunters.”

“ _Who gives a flying fuck who killed them!_ All I know is that there were eight people strung up on the branches of trees, their severed torsos dangling in the goddamn breeze. And you know the age of the youngest Derek? Do you?”

“Yes.”

“ _Four_ , Derek. Four fucking years old. Because of a war over _I don’t even know._ A few shitty bits of crossed territory? A couple of broken ancient pacts? Babies are lying in the ground because of a situation that’s gotten waaaaay out of hand and you’re trying to tell me that it’s not an emergency?”

Caleb knew there was no point in even pretending to be asleep now. This called for a Caleb-Band-Aid. He pressed a hand to Daddy’s heaving chest, his palm moving in time to the hee-hoo-hee-hoo. Dad’s hand covered his and for a second nothing else mattered but making Daddy breathe again.

“I’m sorry.”

“I thought I told you I didn’t want you to apologise.”

“I’m still sorry.”

He had apologised too much today. Daddy’s voice was so small that for a moment Caleb thought he had shrunk down to his size. They would have to try and reach the flush on the potty as a team because whoah, that would be difficult. But he could feel Daddy’s hands, so much bigger than his and only a little bit smaller than Dad’s. Long fingers designed for the best kind of tickle torture.

A small harrumph of air escaped Dad’s lips, and he pulled Daddy under his arm after settling Caleb on his chest.

“I’m not going to tell you it’ll be okay.”

“Thanks.”

“But it’s okay now.”

“Yeah.”

Dad was right. It was okay now. They had this. They had the bed and the soft blankets and their very own darkness. Theyhadthistheyhadthistheyhadthis.

_Oh please don’t go._

_We’ll eat you up._

_We love you so._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got another (much, much, MUCH fluffier) chapter lined up, so never fear, the plot will take a holiday and we can once again bask in the silliness that is Caleb, the growling hipster baby.
> 
> Fun fact: Stiles has Batman bandaids.
> 
> Your comments and kudos are so encouraging, so all the love and love and love to those who have commented and kudos'd. You're fantastic.


	5. Bath Night Or: Always Have A Strategy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Caleb feels the wrath of Erica's fingernails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured that this was patiently waiting on my hard-drive for too long. It was inevitable, everyone has to have a bath.
> 
> Unbeta'd as usual, so forgive my avant-garde slip-ups.

Dad is always talking about the ongoing Lupine War, the fight to end all fights, the battle that must be won. Uncle Scott is always talking about the last fifteen minutes, the goal in sight, and the final whistle. Daddy is always talking about something called a Battle Royale, Darth Vader and three hundred guys dining in hell.

Caleb doesn’t think that any of them understand the true horror of bath night with Erica.

Wednesday night, when Dad, Isaac, Jackson and Boyd go for a run, Daddy goes to talk to Deaton, Lydia goes to night-class (which doesn’t seem that different to day-class, they don’t even learn anything about night) and Scott goes to a Mysterious Lady Allison place that makes both Dad and Daddy frown.

So all that’s left is just an Erica and a Caleb. A Caleb who needs to have a bath.

Caleb doesn’t usually mind bath night. With Daddy, it’s great, because he’ll get into the tub with him and they make as much splash as they can before hiding in big soft white towels. Uncle Scott can make an impressive moustache out of suds. Dad is teaching him something called The Front Crawl, which involves Dad holding him up in the water by his tummy while he kicks his legs. That’s fun too.

There is no fun in bath night with Erica.

It’s not just because she doesn’t make the water warm enough. Or that she doesn’t make enough bubbles. It’s that she has _nails._ Not awesome Dad-claws, but nails that won’t go _away_.

“Okay kiddo, we’re gonna make this quick and we’re gonna hopefully make this painless for both you and me.”

Caleb nodded, swinging his feet from his big-toilet throne. The white floor that was first-cold then kind-of-warm was something he didn’t think he’d ever get used to. How did that happen anyway? Did the floor know that he didn’t like the cold and specially heated up for him? That was awfully nice of it.

“Ugh, you’re getting more and more like Stiles.”

He looked up to where Erica was standing with her hands on her hips, her millions and millions and millions of blonde hairs twisted on the top of her head. That made him giggle. Caleb had once seen Aunt Erica tackle a Bad Man to the forest ground, and she kept her hair down then. He felt vaguely proud that bath night meant Hair Up and Real War. 

She was looking at him as if she was trying to figure out how heavy he was, wondering perhaps if she dropped him into the bath from a great enough height that he might get enough water on him to consider the entire exercise a success.

“Listen, we get this over with and we eat Cookie Dough and watch _Gremlins_ , okay?”

Caleb nodded faster. This is why he loved Aunt Erica. She let him have the bowl with the most dough in it and ignored him when he hid his face behind his fingers. Daddy always calls her Bad Ass.

Still, Caleb is pretty sure Bad Ass doesn’t make a good bath night partner.

It’s alright at first. She puts too much water in and forgets that Caleb isn’t so good at floating in water just yet, but after a few very bad words and some of water on the white floor, He’s thinking that maybe this time he’d let her get away with it.

Until the shampoo.

Because shampoo means nails.

About three seconds into burning eyes and talons on his scalp, Caleb decides that enough is enough. No amount of ice cream is worth this agony. He needed to end this as quickly and as cleanly as possible. Right. Strategy. “Always have a strategy.” Dad rumbled. “And if you don’t, run like hell, that works too.” Daddy chipped in. A combination of his parent’s wisdom had to work, right? He could just see a freedom gap under her arm.

Admittedly, the dive he made wasn’t his best.

She caught him round the middle, shrieking as a deluge soaked through what she informed Caleb earlier to be her I’m-Probably-Gonna-Regret-This-But-These-Are-My-Good-Jeans.

“Oh. No. You. Don’t!”

Caleb made one last futile wiggle before changing tactic to what Dad would have referred to as a scorched earth policy, throwing the shampoo bottle as far away as possible (all it did was hit Erica’s arm) and kick his legs furiously, introducing further amounts of water to the white floor.

Sorry floor, you’ve always been so nice.

Once Caleb heard the shrieky-growl that was coming from Erica’s throat, he decided that a hasty retreat was probably in his best interests, ducking back under the water. He figured if he laid low here she’d get busy drying her Good Jeans and forget about him. It was actually kind of peaceful down there. The warm water stopped being water and instead became thicker air, rippling through his fingers, covering every inch of him. He was sure that he could stay there forever.

Unfortunately, Aunt Erica had other plans, because all of a sudden she wasn’t kneeling beside the bath anymore, she was _in_ the bath, all scrabbly nails hoisting him up.

“Don’t you _ever_ _ever_ EVER do that again, okay? Okay? Do you hear me Caleb? Do you?”

Her voice had gone funny, all wobbly and tight. He only ever heard it like that time when Uncle Boyd’s legs both went the wrong way after a Bad Man fight. He nodded as fast as he could. He just wanted her voice to go back to normal and for her to stop looking at him like someone was going to take him away.

She leant back, sitting with her knees over the edge of the bath and her hair (which had somehow turned darker, this bathroom must have Daddy-magic in it or something) slithered across the wall, sticking to it. Caleb didn’t really know what he’d done, but he was sure that he wasn’t going to do it again. Was it the shampoo bottle? He’d be pretty annoyed if a shampoo bottle hit him too. Or maybe it was the splashing?

This calls for a test run, as Daddy would say.

He threw a little handful of water at her arm. She doesn’t seem to notice it, sucking air in through her nose and out through her mouth. Hmmm. With all the force he had, he smacked down on the water, watching with some satisfaction as Erica looked at him, surprised.

“Really? You really want to play that game little wolf?”

X X X

When Daddy came home, looking like the kind of tired Caleb didn’t understand yet, and headed to the bathroom, Aunt Erica looked like she was going to explode with all the laughter in her mouth. She was biting the zapper, which had been used seconds before to switch from _Gremlins_ to some scary blue monkey in boots insisting he count the footprints.

“Erica.”

“Mmm?”

“You know I would consider you to be one of my nearest and dearest.”

“Why thank you Batman, the feeling is mutual.”

“And we’ve always a strong foundation of trust. Well, apart from when you brutally assaulted me with part of my own jeep but-“

“I agree, we’re trust-buddies.”

“Awesome, glad we’ve got that cleared up. So, keeping that little factoid in mind, why in the HOLY HELL DOES IT LOOK LIKE SOMEONE HAS TRIED TO TRAIN AN EPILEPTIC SPERM WHALE TO TANGO IN THE BATHROOM?”

“Stiles, I may not _suffer_ from epilepsy anymore, but if that’s your attempt to compare me to a sperm whale, I am going to stick this remote up your-“

“You know it’s not. And you also know you’re trying to avoid the subject. You’re talking to the master of avoidance here.”

Erica made a face. She looked down at Caleb, who tried to communicate “I told you we should have cleaned up before we got ice cream” through a series of facial expressions. She seemed to agree.

“Bath time got out of hand. I’ll clean it up before Derek gets home, promise.”

Caleb could feel Daddy relenting even before he saw the grin cracking on his face.

“You’ve been taking puppy-eyes lessons off Scott, haven’t you Reyes?”

(Reyes? Who was Reyes? Erica? Erica was smirking. So Erica is Reyes now? Caleb preferred Erica. He was going to keep calling her Erica.)

Daddy dropped a kiss on his forehead before making his familiar journey to the fridge.

“Just as long as you clean up before Derek gets back, you know how finicky he is since we got those new tiles in- JESUS CHRIST ON A POGO STICK WHERE THE HELL HAS MY COOKIE DOUGH GONE?”

Caleb could feel the couch shaking with silent laughter. He buried his face in the pillow and let his smile sink into the softness.

Bath night with Erica was going to be much more fun from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have experienced the trauma of trying to give my two year old niece a bath, so I have the utmost sympathy of Erica. And every child has to watch Gremlins. It's some necessary trauma right there.
> 
> Fun fact: Derek prefers Phish Food but allows Stiles to get Cookie Dough because he is rewarded in inventive ways.
> 
> Your comments, kudos and bookmarks keep me writing, you're all excellent people.


	6. New Socks Or: The Least Fun Game Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Caleb prepares for war and dreams of Captain Crunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in awhile, people need to just leave me be with my laptop. Anywho, this chapter is a little bit of a return to the vignettes, but I will be getting back into plot-heavier stuff.
> 
> Once again, it is late and I have no beta. Forgive le mistakes.

“Let’s try that again.”

Caleb whined against his wobbly arms, which were saying owchsorenomore. He didn’t blame them, he was sick of pushing open the door-in-the-wall.

“Cales, you’re doing great, you’re getting better every time.”

Caleb couldn’t help but let his chest puff out when he heard stuff like that. He knew it cost Dad big things to let little nice things come out of his mouth. And he really must be doing good if Dad said so. Because like, duh, Dad.

But he was bored. So booooored. They’d been playing this stupid game for too long. And on that subject, what kind of Hide and Seek always has the same hiding place? Surely that spoils the surprise a bit. This certainly wasn’t like any game of Hide and Seek that Caleb had ever played before. If given unlimited access of the house, he could curl up in places Uncle Isaac never seemed to be able to find.

But through the door-in-the-wall, down the laundry slide and into the basement was just predictable. Caleb had hoped that Dad would give him a little more credit after the first handful of times they played. But Dad insisted he use the basement. It was getting annoying, he wasn’t even _counting down_ , he was just staring at his watch and saying things like “gotta get that lid open a bit quicker kiddo” or “remember, landing on all fours, Stiles will kill me if you break an ankle”.

He didn’t like being in the basement. It was dank, musty and probably the darkest place in the world. Even when Caleb disentangled himself from the mattress he falls onto, and looked around properly, his eyes couldn’t grab onto things. Daddy once tried to explain to him about light-reflection-eyes-and-stuff, but all Caleb took from it was that if it was really dark, like really _really_ dark, he could see about as much as Daddy could. Which wasn’t very much.

He found that if he pressed himself into a little space between two cabinets it took Dad a little longer to find him. It also put him directly underneath the kitchen, where he could hear Daddy arguing with Uncle Scott about the defensive use of Molotov cocktails, while at the same time arguing about the merits of Zack Snyder’s _Watchmen._ Daddy apparently thought it was “an irremovable stain of further Alan-Moore-Sacrilege” while Uncle Scott thought it was “pretty alright.” Caleb didn’t know really, but the sound of the two of them blocked out what were definitely two rats having a pretty in-depth squeaky conversation every time he went down there.

Least. Fun. Game. Ever.

Dad had squatted down so that if Caleb stood up, he could fit his head straight under his chin. He knew this because they were his second-favourite of Dad’s hugs, closely following what Daddy always called the “Oh-My-God-Derek-You’re-Going-To-Brain-Our-Child-Put-Him-Down-Now”.

Dad had green eyes right now. Sometimes he had red eyes, but only when all the air in the room went away or if there was too much shouting. Daddy had brown eyes. Sometimes he has white eyes, so white it hurts to look at, but you can’t stop looking at them. But that’s only when the floor has scrawly symbols and Daddy is calling out to his magic. They’re mostly brown. Caleb prefers the brown.

Caleb places his right hand (his favourite hand) over Dad’s green eye. It fits over it, touching the inside of the bridge of Dad’s nose to the edge of his eye. He fits his other hand, his less-good one over his own eye. Caleb never understood why his eyes were blue, and then sometimes were only a little bit bluer. It didn’t make sense. If his finger-painting education served him right, if you mix green and brown together, you don’t get blue, you get more brown. So why didn’t he have brown eyes?

Dad’s lips quirked up, in a movement that Daddy usually referred to as A Triumphant Success.

“Y’know, I sometimes have less of an idea what’s going on in that funny little head of yours than I do with Stiles, and believe me, that saying something.”

Caleb decided it would be more mysterious if he nipped Dad’s nose. Dad’s smile widened.

“Yeowch. Those little fangs are getting sharp. While we’re on that, let’s go through the rules again.”

He rolled his eyes. No matter how many times Daddy said he was just kidding when he said that rules were made to be broken, Caleb liked the sound of that much more than the million and one rules he’d had to learn recently.

“Don’t give me that. Okay, from the top. Down the laundry shoot when?”

“Daddy or Dad say go.”

“Good. When you’re down in the basement?”

“Don’t make peep.”

“Exactly. What do you not do?”

“Make facey shift.”

“That’s right. Claws and fangs stay in. How long do you stay in the basement?”

“Until Dad or Daddy or Pack come down.”

“And _only_ then Caleb. Even if you hear voices or footsteps. You stay in the basement until one of us comes down to get you.”

“But what if you don’t?”

Caleb was sorry when he let the question spill out of his mouth. It seemed to hit Dad, low and hard in the stomach, because he dropped his head a little, and made a scrunched-face. He didn’t know that you could make someone feel the actual owch with words. But before he could put his hand up to smooth out the frown, Dad had looked up with a kind of intensity that scared Caleb but somehow made him feel better, safer. He didn’t know how Dad did that.

“We’ll find you. We’ll always find you Caleb.”

Caleb nodded, understanding the big-ness of this. Stuff was changing, he could see that now. And Dad and Daddy were trying to make sure that Caleb was always the best in the world at Hide and Seek. He was thankful for that, really he was, it was just that-

“Bring Captain Crunch?”

Dad laughed. It was a bright, small laugh, more an exhale of breath than Daddy’s whooping fits of giggles. But Caleb could tell that the two together meant the same thing.

“I don’t think you have to worry about Stiles letting you go hungry. But it’s really important you do this right now, okay?”

Caleb nodded. He accepted Dad’s big outstretched palm, feeling the rough pads of his thumb skate across his palms. He cracked his toes noisily, crouching like Dad did just before he’d run at Uncle Boyd. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dad look at him in a way that made him want to puff out his chest again.

“Ready. Set.”

The sound of Daddy and Scott’s heated discussion seemed to die away and grow impossibly louder in his ears, becoming muted and fuzzy. The same for Erica’s hairdryer and the punching bag that Uncle Isaac and Boyd had decided was no longer their friend. The house seemed to creak and breathe with the kind of life that Caleb wanted forever; that everyone seemed so scared was going to leave. He had to make sure it didn’t leave. He stared down the door-in-the-wall.

“Go.”

X X X

Uncle Jackson hit the front of Jeep so hard that it groaned, bobbing up and down in disagreement. Daddy let out a squawk of indignation, grabbing Caleb from between his legs and drawing them up. He nudged Jackson’s head with the toe of his scuffed sneaker from their throne on the bonnet of Jeep. Poor Jeep. Caleb rubbed a soothing hand across the cold metal.

“That’s two of my babies you endangered Jacks. Feeeeeeel  my disdain, dude.”

“How the hell was that my fault? It was your goddamn mate who threw me against this death trap in the first place.”

“Oh I’m _sorry_ that we can’t all cruise around in Porsches, Jackson. Besides, if you had been paying a _little_ bit more attention on your blind side than maybe you-“

“It’s called a blind side for a reason dumbass-“

Two clawed hands shot out from under Jeep and clamped around Uncle Jackson’s ankles. With a howl of rage, he surged forwards, bringing Uncle Scott with him. A small scuffle in the leaves ended with both of them springing up, circling each other.

The rest of the Pack closed in, drawing themselves up from their respective show-downs. This was how training usually culminated. It was always exciting, watching just two wolves close in on each other. Caleb preferred it that way. He didn’t have eyes on the back of his head you know, he couldn’t keep up with four fights at once. This way was TV. Daddy slapped money into Aunt Erica’s hand while Lydia coolly counted out the bills Isaac had just handed over.

Caleb did the mental calculations in his head. On a good day, Uncle Scott would win, no problemo. Daddy said that he had a gift for “strategy”, whatever that meant. Caleb just thought that he was super good at throwing stuff on the ground really hard. But Uncle Scott was still a bit weak from the hunters’ bazillion razor sharp black blades that got under his skin last week. Daddy and Dad spent nearly a night and a day picking them out of him, while Caleb tried to show him new drawings he made to cheer him up. He didn’t think it helped much. 

Also, Caleb had to admit that Uncle Jackson was a world-class dodger. Maybe almost as good as Caleb himself, but let’s not exaggerate here. He had to admit though, Uncle Jackson could dive and slip away like his was made of water and lightening.

Right now though, he was made of skin and teeth, which were bared at Scott, who returned the snarl with relish. Jackson barrelled toward Scott, with a kind of ferocity that Caleb could never decide was play-pretend or not. Jackson never trained like the others. He just fought.

Before Jackson reached him, Uncle Scott grabbed a fistful of dry leaves and threw them in his face. Spluttering, Jackson had only a millisecond to take this in before Scott had knocked his legs out from under him, springing on him to try and pin him to the yellow ground.

Ah, strategy.

Daddy gave a small whoop, clapping his hands together. Caleb did the same. It seemed like the thing to do. Daddy noticed and gave a slightly louder whoop, holding his hand out for a high-five. Now that Caleb had been taught since the day he was born. He slapped Daddy’s palm with as much enthusiasm as he could, laughing when the high-five turned into a tickle attack. He crawled onto Dad, who had been leaning against Jeep between Daddy’s legs, imperiously observing the fight that was unfolding before them.  Dad didn’t look around, but scratched the back of Caleb’s ear, just the way he liked it.

Jackson had squirmed out from under Scott and was now proceeding to advance on him, his jaw crackling threateningly. Uncle Scott was already in his attack position however. He lunged, attempting to bowl Jackson over with one leap but it didn’t work. Jackson had obviously taken Dad’s advice and started to work on his strength. They collided with a massive snarl, the kind that made Caleb want to jump around and snap at things.

The shouts of encouragement and whoops suddenly died away as Uncle Jackson pinned Scott with a kind of anger that Caleb was sure shouldn’t be happening, that was totally out of place. Daddy inched forward, sliding Caleb off his Dad-throne. Two quick strides and Dad had thrown Scott and Jackson to either sides of the clearing. Caleb heard Uncle Jackson land a good deal harder than Scott.

“Run it off, c’mon.”

Dad’s low grunt seemed to get everyone moving. Erica moodily stuffed some money into Daddy’s outstretched palm before strutting away, Uncle Boyd following her every move.

“Stiles! You bet against me?!”

“Sorry bro, but you’ve been off form and Jackson’s been working on his core. I call it as I see it. Also, Caleb needs new socks.”

Socks. Caleb _loved_ new socks. He could mix them up however way he wanted them so that the reds could go with the yellows, and the dinosaurs could go with the moo cows, and the stripes could go with the spaceships and –

Daddy was jumping lightly down from the Jeep, laughing softly as Uncle Scott charged after the others in a huff. He hummed slightly, holding out his arm for Dad to drop his musty white tank top onto.

“Yeeeuuuuccckkk. I like what’s going on under it the top, but duuuuude.”

“Deal with it; it’s your laundry day.”

“When is it _not_ my laundry day?”

Dad chuckled, low in his throat. Caleb suddenly felt smooshed between them as Dad pressed his lips to Daddy’s. It was a thing they did quite a bit. To say hello, goodbye, or just anything really. Sometimes it went on a bit longer than Caleb would consider strictly necessary, but they both seemed to enjoy it so he figured he’d let them away with it until it really got on his nerves or something.

“See you in an hour or so.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

They were saying that a lot more lately. Love you. I love you. I love you too. Whenever they left each other, they’d say it. Like it was a tick they couldn’t get rid of. Caleb could sometimes hear it whispered, late at night, like a little prayer that seeped under his door, through the walls of the house.

They never used to say it as much. But these days, every time either of them walked out the door, even to get some milk, it was like they were drinking in the sight of each other, like this might be there last chance they could ever get.

Whatever. It made Caleb’s head sad so he put it out of his mind.

He struggled when Dad took off into the trees, wanting to follow him, to leap over the logs and under branches. He’d never be as fast as Dad or Uncle Isaac, but he thought it might be fun to try. He didn’t have to fight yet, if he could just run –

“Hey hey, ease it up there buddy. Human parent. Werewolf baby.”

Caleb paused in his attempt to outstrip the Pack for Running Champion glory. He looked up at Daddy, who was looking like he understood what Caleb was feeling.  Weird. Could Daddy read minds? He hoped so; it would make asking for his sippy cup at nighttimes so much easier.

“You’re going to run when you’re five Caleb. How many years is that?”

Caleb stared at Daddy’s outstretched fingers, concentrating.  

“Tw-ooooo?”

“Yep. Two and a bit. And then you can go running and jumping and whatever else your wolfy wolfiness programmes you to do. But for now, you’re sticking with me.”

Caleb let out a little huff, gnawing grumpily on the shoulder of Daddy’s flannel shirt.

“And while they’re away, I think it’s about time that we busted open that stash of marshmallows Erica has been hoarding in her desk drawer. That suit?”

Caleb disentangled his teeth to press a smile to Daddy’s neck.

That suited just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's about to heat up for Caleb & co. in the future, so I figured for now they could just frolick around in the Hale version of domestic bliss, which is of course, throwing each other against the ground and planning escape routes. 
> 
> Thank you to all that commented, bookmarked and kudos'd. Your support is like an energy drink of love.


	7. Door Knobs Or: Be Gentle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb spends another panicked night waiting for the stupid door to open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured that the world could always use more angst.
> 
> Unbeta'd, as usual. Forgive and point out mistakes.

The tree outside his bedroom window was waving to him. Its leaves swung back and forth, tapping lightly on the pane of glass, barely distinguishable from the ink-black night that encircled it. Caleb glumly waved back, wondering what on earth the tree had to be so happy about. Maybe it hadn’t heard what Grandpa Stilinkski would call “the rumpus” that had blown through the house not so long ago.

Lucky tree.

He gnawed on the bars of his crib, relishing the way his teeth sank into the soft wood. This was so stupid. He could easily clamber up the side and jump down. In fact, when the rumpus started, he started to do just that, before Uncle Scott came hurtling into the room, breathing like he just did ten training sessions in a row, and, his white shirt covered in hot copper red.

“S-Stay here Caleb okay? Just stay here, I swear everything’s cool dude, sit tight for a bit, ‘kay?”

Before Caleb could even lever himself up over the railings, Scott tore away again. Most importantly, he slammed the door behind him.

Door knob, old enemy, we meet again.

Caleb glared at the offending culprit, its bronze sheen clear even in the dull blue-black of the darkened bedroom. It had rattled when Uncle Scott had slammed it. Caleb could hear him could hear him leaping the stairs, the loud thunk of Uncle Scott saying hello to the floor in the most aggressive way possible. It was melted into the cacophony of sounds, all of which seemed to be centred at the big kitchen.

Never a good sign.

He could hear chairs being dragged, walls being kicked, Aunt Erica’s furious yelling mingling with the low, constant growl that undoubtedly came from Dad’s throat. At that point, Caleb had slid back into the crib, rolling himself into his blankets, trying to scratch out the shivers that had just run up and down his back. He shoved his face into the fabric, trying to pretend it was Daddy’s shirt, trying to block out the overwhelming stench of hot copper red, the-

Daddy.

Caleb could hear him now. Tiny, wet whimpers. And he knew something was wrong, he knew that something wasn’t the same as it had been before, that Daddy wasn’t supposed to sound like that. Whenever Daddy sounded like that there was too much pale faces and too much waiting and Caleb just couldn’t take it anymore, he wanted Daddy to defeat the door knob and to teach him Nintendo and he didn’t know what to do, he just didn’t, how could he understand when no one was saying anything, he just wanted them to _say_ something and not tell him that it was okay because it _wasn’t_ okay and-

The hot copper red smell disappeared under the unmistakeable perfume of Aunt Lydia’s hair as she enveloped him, extracting his claws from the door and walking back over to the rocking chair. He hadn’t even realised that how he’d reached the door, much less that he was trying to fight with it.

She sat back into the chair, pulling him close to her, wiping the wet that had somehow magically appeared on his face. She began to rock, backward and forwards, making constant shushing sounds. The static of her noise seemed to block out the commotion below and Caleb concentrated on the little bumpa-bum in her chest, which had only just started to slow down. He looked up at her dirt-smeared face, tracked with the same kind of wet she had wiped away from Caleb’s. She pressed her dry lips together, running her tongue through the thin line. She needed her lip gloss. Caleb copied her movements, pricking his tongue on his teeth and she gave a funny little hiccup-y laugh.

“Your stupid-brave Daddy will be fine. He just had a bit of an accident. He just- Well, Deaton’s with him right now, so he’ll be fine.”

Caleb let out a stream of words about how it was _never_ good when Deaton showed up. He could hear his calm, smooth voice downstairs. He tried to explain how it didn’t make sense that someone who often came with such bad things was so often welcomed. How did that even make any sense?

Aunt Lydia patted his head in the absent way some of the Pack did when Caleb got into the specifics of things. Honestly, it was like they didn’t even _understand_ him sometimes. But Lydia’s arms were warm and the house had quietened. Daddy’s whimpers had lessened to slight hisses of pain and were punctuated with soft humming growls from Dad. The growls comforted Caleb, curled around his heart like tendrils and settled low in his stomach. His eyes began to close on their own.

The tree was still waving at him. Caleb was getting seriously irritated now. The jaunty sway of the leaves was making him feel sick. He let out a little growl, daring it to do it again. The door creaked open, a slant of light sliding across Caleb’s crib. He could see Dad’s broad outline in the doorway.

“Alright to come in?”

Caleb grunted. He was still peeved that he hadn’t been allowed get involved in the rumpus. He knew it was Dad who had sent Lydia and Scott up to his room. Down the laundry chute Caleb, under the bed Caleb, behind the door Caleb. Was it such a big deal just to have a look?

“Want to come see Daddy with me?”

Caleb’s head snapped up. Now, that he could get on board with. He let Dad swing him up, feeling the gash in his t-shirt and the smooth skin beneath.

“Remember Cay, be gentle.”

He nodded seriously. Be gentle was the first thing he ever learnt, or at least he thought it was. He remembered it much better than how to hang a spoon from his nose or Potty-Time-Code. The first thing Caleb was taught was to be gentle with Daddy. Dad explained it all to him. Because Daddy was different. Dad taught him that holding tight for him was holding too tight for Daddy, and hitting Daddy would leave a mark. He felt things more clearly, more sharply, and they didn’t fade back into the skin after. It must be a difficult existence, but Daddy acted like it was no big deal. Caleb thought he was superhero for that. He couldn’t imagine dealing with an owch for more than a few minutes, let alone the gazillion years Daddy has to limp through.

So he had to be gentle. Because the last thing he wanted to do was make that owch last even longer.

When Dad brought him into their bedroom, it took Caleb a second to realise who the lump under the covers was. It let out a familiar groan before rolling to the side and breaking out into a wide grin.

“Heeeeey buddy, c’mere.”

Dad deposited him onto the soft sheets and Caleb crawled up until he met Daddy’s outstretched arms. He clambered into them, unhappily taking in the stench of pain that rolled off him, mixed with a strong medicine smell. Daddy’s breath hitched and he adjusted Caleb in his arms so that his feet didn’t brush the side of the massive bandage that covered one side of his stomach. That must be the owch.

“How’re you doing kiddo? Get a scare did ya?”

Caleb launched into what was probably a confusing diatribe of the numerous emotions that ran through his head during that whole terrifying escapade. Daddy didn’t just pat him on the head though, he listened closely, nodding at all the right times.

“Yeah, it sucked pretty bad. Still, s’all good now, ain’t that right Sourwolf?”

Dad let out a little huff and climbed onto the bed. If Caleb knew Dad, and he reckoned he knew Dad the best in the world apart from Daddy, he was wishing the same thing as Caleb. Not that Daddy’s owchs would go away when he got them, but that they wouldn’t be there at all. That whenever something bad happened Daddy could jump into a ball of golden light and just float in the air above them, waving down at Caleb every now and then, just to let him know that he was okay.

But Daddy’s magic wasn’t _that_ good, and besides, Daddy always liked being in the middle of things, whether it was a Nintendo tournament or as Uncle Isaac put it “caving in heads with a baseball bat.” So Dad held him close and crossed his fingers. Sometimes it didn’t work out so good.

Tonight seemed to be one of the nights it didn’t work out so good.

“Caleb sweetheart, ease up on those little killer-claws.”

He hastily retracted his grip on Daddy’s chest. It was slightly stained, not with hot copper red but with patches of wetness. Dad tipped Daddy’s head forward and pressed a damp towel to the nape of his neck, gently patting it, allowing Daddy’s forehead to rest on his shoulder. He rested his other hand over the skin just above the bandage. Caleb watched in fascination as the inky-blackness travelled up Dad’s arm and Daddy slumped forward with a groan.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

He laid Daddy back against the pillows, brushing the towel over his torso, making low, comforting sounds while he did it. Silence had filled the room by the time he lay down next to Daddy, pulling Caleb to his chest.

“Stiles, I can hear you thinking.”

“I’m not thinking, I’m _reflecting_.”

“Bullshit. You’re thinking. Relax. Deaton told you not to get worked up.”

“Well ‘scuse me for getting worked up when a goddamn hunter decides I don’t _need_ my stomach –“

“ _Stiles.”_

Dad sounded pained, like he wanted Daddy to keep talking but to stop talking. As Caleb muddled over how that could possibly make sense, Daddy spoke again.

“I was just thinking that...Those were Dryer hunters, their base is on the border.”

“So? They were a bit far away from home, but that’s nothing new.”

“But Derek, you _saw_ the way they were fighting. They had this kind of wild look in their eyes. Like they didn’t even know they were human anymore, like animals that had been, I dunno, cornered.”

“So?”

“Well genius, they _weren’t_ cornered. They were wandering around our territory. Like they were looking for a fight. So why the hell were they acting so desperate?”

Dad just looked at him, raising his eyebrows, indicating that he had his attention.

“I’m just thinking that...Well, we know for a fact that the Bray Pack is moving along the border, and we know it’s not completely out of character for them to drop by and do a spot of terrorizing on any friendly neighbourhood group of hunters they can find, so would it be so improbable that they visited our crazy pals and chased them into said craziness?”

Dad was half way through nodding before he snapped up, his arm coming up around Caleb and reaching protectively to the back of Daddy’s head. Daddy attempted to move, heaving himself up the headboard with a hiss, bracing his arms into the mattress.

“Derek? What is it? They’re not back are they?”

Dad was looking straight out the window into the deep night, inhaling, frowning slightly. He ran a hand through Daddy’s hair, forcing him to sink back under the covers, but Caleb could feel his arm tighten around his waist.

“No, it’s not them. It’s the Blackwoods. I think they're here to help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah. Foreshadowing. I went there. 
> 
> Thanks for all your kudos, comments and bookmarks, they are beautiful and you are beautiful. Yes you. YOU AT THE COMPUTER SCREEN.


	8. A Tired Porch Or: New Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Caleb forms some important alliances with some clones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologise for the unplanned hiatus. Double work shifts do not mix with college exams.
> 
> Unbeta'd, forgive and point out mistakes.

It had taken what felt like a hundred years to get Daddy situated in the old rocking chair on the porch. What with the growling on Dad’s part, the complaints from Daddy and perhaps the slowest trip Caleb has ever taken down the big stairs in the house. By the time Scott and Dad eased Daddy back into the creaking frame, and Caleb helpfully tugged on the leg of his sweatpants, it felt like all the happenings of tonight were over. However when Caleb turned his face to meet the soft-hello-breeze of the inky night around him, and caught a scent he didn’t recognise, a part of his mind that spoke like Dad told him that the night had only just begun.

They inched forward, their tread softer than the light air pressing gentle kisses to Caleb’s face. The black outlines of the trees spread and shifted their faces. He was proud to say he could now identify these outlines as shadows. There seemed to be an awful lot of shadows in Caleb’s life these days. Dad’s red eyes seemed to be set in a different head, as they were attached to the lady who walked calmly towards them. She was tall, almost as tall as Uncle Boyd, with a mass of hair that sprung out in thousands of little curls. Caleb desperately wanted to pull one to see if it popped back. The temptation was too much, and sensing that this was perhaps a delicate situation, he clambered up into Uncle Isaac’s arms, where he knew he would be prevented from any damage.

The Curly Lady was followed by a group of people. Caleb didn’t know how many, if they would stop inching forward he would perhaps be able to count them. Maybe six? What’s after six...Eight? No, wait, that’s seven. But does he include the Curly Lady in the number? What does he end up with then? Caleb’s brain was already starting to hurt when he spotted the three people who were bringing up the rear of the little party. He felt a flicker of unease coupled with a flare of joy when he realised that all three _looked exactly the same._ He chattered quietly into Isaac’s ear, hoping that they wouldn’t hear him. Did they ask to make their faces all the same shape? Could you do that? Did they wear heels like Aunt Erica so they would all appear the same height? How come all three were wearing the same outfit? Didn’t Lydia say that was a “no-no”?

Uncle Isaac jiggled him up and down and shushed him, as if he was speaking complete nonsense. Honestly, Caleb needed to get a better-working mouth soon because this was becoming unbearable. How was he supposed to get answers if people weren’t going to pay attention to his questions?

“Bit late for a little cub like that to be awake, isn’t it Alpha Hale?”

Dad was striding forward, his hand outstretched to the Curly Lady, who had abruptly, a few paces from the porch.

“He’s had pretty high-tempo night so far, and most of the time he’s too hyper to grasp the concept of sleeping anyway, Alpha Blackwood.”

“He takes after Stiles in that respect then.” Curly Lady smiled. A warm smile, Caleb noticed. It spread along her mouth and lifted her face up with it, so she crinkled at the corners of her eyes, which twinkled at the indignant “hey!” that emitted from the depths of Daddy’s rocking chair. Dad smiled back, and Caleb was pleased to see it was a genuine smile, with no plan behind it. He placed his other hand over her two hands which clasped his.

“I’m sorry you and your pack can’t enter the house Tixy, but Stiles has some pretty powerful talismans and spells around this perimeter and he’s too weak to undo them at the moment. You’ll have to forgive our rudeness.”

Curly Lady, who had somehow morphed into Tixy, waved her hands in a manner that Caleb had recently understood to mean “it doesn’t matter.” Oh man, he was getting so good at this. “Don’t be ridiculous Derek. Times like these, I’m grateful we could get onto your property at all. Although it looks like you already had visitors tonight.”

Dad nodded, and looked around at the pack. On closer inspection, Caleb noticed that it wasn’t just Daddy that was looking like he could use a long nap. Aunt Erica had hot copper red streaked through her hair while Boyd was still gingerly poking at an owch that had yet to fade away. Lydia was absently rubbing at a singed hole in her shirt while Uncle Scott leant against the door, sliding down an inch every now and then. When he noticed it, Caleb could almost taste the exhaustion on his tongue. It had been a long time since the tree branch was waving to him. His eyes grew heavy. Uncle Isaac’s shoulder was very warm...

“- were tracking the Bray Pack when we caught the scent of those rabid Dryer hunters. So we diverted in our path and headed for them. I think we caught them off your rebound, there wasn’t many left, and the ones that were, were pretty torn up, so we made short work of them.”

Caleb’s eyes snapped open when Isaac moved to sit down on the porch steps, and gave his brain a big kick for betraying him at this crucial moment. Dad was nodding, standing with his arms crossed. Even in his sleepy state, Caleb could appreciate a memory of Daddy’s declaration that Dad’s arms were nature’s divine gift to mankind. Caleb agreed, he couldn’t ask for a better swinging bar or climbing frame. He wasn’t sure how that benefitted Daddy, but...Focus, Caleb, focus.  Tixy was talking to Dad, while the remainder of the pack sat against trees. The three...What would Daddy call them...Clones? Yeah, clones, like in Star Wars. The three clones all sat to Tixy’s right, cross-legged with their cheeks balanced on their fists. A man with hair the same colour as Lydia’s stood beside her, nodding every now and then.  Something told Caleb that he was to Tixy what Daddy was to Dad.

“While you have our gratitude for dealing with the rest of the Dryers –“ Dad hesitated, and Caleb could tell he was choosing his words very, very carefully, like when Aunt Erica asked what he thought of her outfit. “– we can’t ask you to involve your pack in our business with the Bray Pack. There’s too much at stake already, it just wouldn’t be fair.”

Tixy put her hands on her hips, and Caleb detected a strong whiff of Aunt Lydia emanating from her. He was starting to like this lady more and more. “What isn’t fair is that a pack of your size and your neutral status is being forced to deal with a goddamn rabid pack on your own. A pack, I might add, that is twice the size of yours. You need our help, Derek, and we are prepared to give it to you. Is that not enough?”

Dad had begun to pace, and even with his face sliding in and out of the weak light from the house, Caleb could tell that Dad certainly thought this wasn’t enough. His face was twisted slightly, not like he was making the The Face, but in a kind of grimace that Caleb usually associated with big books and long words. Tixy evidently felt the need to elaborate, because she took a step towards Dad and put her hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look her in the eye.

“I know you don’t trust easily Alpha Hale. But I also know that you love your family more than anything. Stiles and Caleb complete you, you are whole with them. We are creatures of pack and warmth Derek, and we don’t deal well when things are ripped away from us. You and I know that better than most.”

The cool air had suddenly become tinged with a kind of sad-grey-loss. Caleb could see Daddy, holding his side, sitting forward in his chair, as if he was preparing to rise from it. His eyes were glued to Dad, big orbs with little flecks of light dancing in them, and something _more_.  For once in his life, Caleb suddenly didn’t feel old enough to understand all this, and he curled in on himself, reaching out to Isaac, feeling his grip grow tighter.

Slipping her hand into the hand of the red-haired man, Tixy’s voice grew thicker as she still clutched Dad’s shoulder. “I lost my cub to wolves like them, Derek. Let me help you protect yours.”

Dad’s arms, Caleb’s climbing frames, had fallen to hang limply by his sides. Slowly, he nodded, as if in a daze, as if he was trudging through a swamp of things he didn’t want to remember. Things, Caleb suspected, that could never be forgotten. Like the hot copper red that Caleb remembered, like Dad face down on the table, while Daddy tried to make the owch go away. The things in Dad’s head were as big to him as that. What you are is what you remember. Caleb suspected that what Dad was remembering was what Daddy called B.C., Before Caleb. If he was right in his suspicions, then it was also before Daddy. It was something to do with the picture of smiling people on the mantelpiece, the ones Caleb knew but had never met. They were all gone now, Daddy had said. They were gone and now he, Caleb and the pack had help fill the hole in Dad that they had left.

Remembering this, Caleb let out the biggest happy-yelp he could manage, squirming in Isaac’s arms. Dad turned towards him, a small smile sliding into place. With a squawk of triumph, Caleb stretched his arms out to him. Dad took him from Uncle Isaac and scratched the back of one of Caleb’s ears. Caleb wasn’t sure if his wriggle of joy was undignified or not. Quite frankly, he didn’t care. All that mattered was that when Dad turned back to Tixy, he was still smiling.

“Alpha Blackwood, it would be an honour to join forces with you.”

Tixy smiled back, and nodded. She reached into her pocket and pulled a piece of string with a little circle attached to it. Caleb knew this one. A necklace. Lydia wore lots of them. However, this didn’t look like any necklace Aunt Lydia would wear. Not enough shiny stones. When Tixy gently placed it around Caleb’s neck, he could smell leather. The little wooden circle had the same swirly mark on it as the one on Dad’s back. A tri- trisk- tri-

“I made it when I first heard the news that you had marked him as yours. I had hoped to give it to him in more peaceful times, but I suppose now is more fitting.” Tixy straightened the necklace on Caleb, who was fighting the incredible urge to gnaw at it. Perhaps sensing this danger, Dad took the pendant up in his fingers and inspected it closely. “This is- “

“Elderwood, yes. I figured that it should be a wood that Stiles would be able to cast on, maybe put some positivity or protection into it.” Tixy smiled, and tapped Caleb under the chin. “Not that this little one needs it. He’s a fighter, just like his fathers.”

Tixy’s pack around her was now beginning to get to their feet. She clasped Dad’s hand one more time. “We will talk more tomorrow Alpha Hale. You all need some rest. We should savour every moment of peace while we still have it.” And with that, she and her pack slunk away, back into the dark trees from whence they came.

Only when the last whiff of the Blackwoods left the pack’s noses, did they begin to move. Grumbling and moaning, chairs scraped against wood. The porch groaned as Isaac and Jackson clambered to their feet. Everyone began to hobble their way inside, Erica supporting Boyd, Lydia holding the door open for Scott. Caleb had to admit he was surprised, he was expecting more talk than this. Usually, if someone he didn’t know came and rudely interrupted their lives, the pack would talk and talk and talk, going backwards and forwards, pointing insistently at pieces of paper with words or buildings drawn on them. Daddy would usually talk the most, along with Aunt Lydia. Scott usually asked the questions that Caleb wanted to know, like “what?” “Huh?” “Explain?”

Tonight though, tonight was clearly not a night for talking. Caleb realised this the moment that Dad sat down heavily on the porch, shuffling himself until they were both between Daddy’s legs. Dad dropped his forehead against Daddy’s knee and let out a shaky, uneven breath against the top of Caleb’s head.

It was only then, amidst the warm darkness and the mumbling familiarity around him, that Caleb knew there was nothing more to be said.

X X X

“TAP OUT YOU ASSHOLE, TAP THE FUCK OUT!”

Caleb laughed as he squirmed under the hands that clamped around his ears. Daddy was saying something to Aunt Erica, probably about bad words and politeness duuuude. Not that Erica was paying much attention, she was too busy pinning Vigo, Tixy’s biggest pack member, attempting to prevent him from somehow struggling his way to victory. It had been a hard fought fight; there were leaves in Erica’s hair and a gash on Vigo’s face that was already starting to close up.

All around him, Caleb was noticing that since the Blackwoods came to stay, play time had begun to involve harder hits, louder growls, and fangs that were snapping at skin rather than air. All of a sudden, focus had somehow started to infect their territory. If he was being honest, Caleb wasn’t much of a fan. There weren’t as many piggy backs from Uncle Boyd, who was presently trying to take down all three of Tixy’s triplets (Triplets, that’s what Daddy had called the three clones. Ash, Owen and Robin). Isaac didn’t have as much time to watch cartoons. In any case, the living room was usually full of people who did not seem to appreciate Spongebob as a sane man should, in Caleb’s opinion. Aunt Erica had started what Daddy called “inching on the feral”. She raced through her meals, played music that thumped all over the house and then proceeded to “kick the crap out of” Dad’s poor old battered punching bag. Caleb felt that maybe she might not be in the mood for finger painting.

He managed to wrench Daddy’s hands away from his ears and gnawed playfully at one of his fingers. Daddy snatched his hand back and did a pretend-faint into Dad’s arms. Caleb only knew it was a pretend-faint because Daddy was still smiling. He grinned toothily at Gray, Tixy’s mate, who grinned back. Caleb liked Gray. He was easy-going and calm, and listened to Daddy like Caleb thought everyone should listen to Daddy. They spent hours staring at pieces of paper together, nodding, pointing and sometimes scribbling something down.  They did it until it was dark and Daddy swept Caleb up to bed, curling up to Dad before drifting off. Caleb never slept in his cot anymore.

Dad set Daddy back on his feet before pointing out what he felt to be “an obvious move” to Uncle Boyd. Tixy was busy showing Scott how to throw Jackson against a tree. They were enjoying themselves. Jackson, not so much. He glared at Aunt Lydia, who smiled sweetly back at him before turning back to a map that she, Daddy and Gray had spread out on the bonnet of the Jeep. Caleb rolled around for a bit in the leaves, trying to gnaw on his shoes. Honestly, he had grown bored with all the training. He used to find it exciting, but now he’d seen pretty much every kind of back-flippy-tree-jumpy-pushy-dodgy fight in the history of mankind and he was _booooooored._

Wait.

Was that -?

Yes.

_Squirrel._

Caleb rushed gleefully towards his new beady-eyed friend. His grey and brown bottle-brush tail stuck high in the air, and Caleb wanted to _touch._ It just looked so...Poofy. Caleb decided right there and then that he would name his new friend Poofy. But before he could inform Poofy of his new name, he had bounded off into a bracket of undergrowth. Aha! A game of tag. Caleb liked Poofy already. He certainly knew how to liven up an afternoon of nothing but werewolves throwing each other around. He could still smell his new friend just beyond the thicket of undergrowth, along with something else, something slightly familiar. He dove in and struggled out the other side, snuffling around before giving an inquisitive yelp to see if Poofy was playing tag or hide and seek.

“CALEB!”

Daddy’s voice shot through the forest like a breaking branch. Caleb knew he had scared him, he had expressly been told not to go anywhere by himself, to never move from beyond clearing. Caleb could already hear the collective thunder of what sounded like a billion million wolves charging towards him, their calls and heartbeats filling the air around him. Caleb wanted to tell them that he was fine; he wanted to tell them that he was just playing a game with his new friend. But he found he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak.

Because standing in front of him, gasping for breath and covered in hot copper red, was Allison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And to think, this was all once planned as a one-chapter fluff-deal. 
> 
> Fun Fact: Caleb has had seven previous squirrel friends called Poofy. He accidentally killed them all. Or, as Stiles put it, "violently made them sleep."
> 
>  
> 
> Comments, kudos, etc. are Ryan Gosling with a box of chocolates.
> 
> EDIT: You lovely people may have noticed that this story is on a slight hiatus as I focus finishing another fic of mine. This is still my baby though and rest assured I will be returning to it ASAP!


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